Unfit to Dream
by Aquitaine
Summary: Elrond explains to a young Estel that, as he will never reach the standard of the elves in fighting, he should not even bother to try. Not canon.


**Title: **Unfit to dream.

**Rating:** G

**Characters:** Estel, Elrond. 

**Summary:** Elrond explains to a young Estel that, as he will never reach the standard of the elves in fighting, he should not even bother to try. Not canon.

**Author's note:** This is a **parody**. The characters are **meant** to be out of character. This is also, obviously, **AU**. It is **not** canon. Just to set things straight! =)

**Disclaimer: **All characters belong to J RR Tolkein. All I'm getting out of this is fun, satisfaction, and hopefully a point. No money whatsoever!

..:*:..

Ever since a little boy's birthday two days ago, one sound could be constantly heard throughout Rivendell.

'Die, foul orcs!' shrieked Estel, swinging wildly with the tiny sword that Arwen had given him for his sixth birthday. He had been up playing since the first light of dawn, and his cheeks were flushed red with excitement and his game.

He slashed at an invisible figure to his left, shouting happily as he put all of his strength into the blow. Spinning, he ducked an imaginary strike from the enemy behind him. His foot slid from under him, and, off-balance from his untutored movements, Estel tripped and fell full length onto the ground.

The happy shrieks of killing orcs stopped. Estel lay for a moment in shocked surprise, feeling the gritty dirt and the hard ground beneath his body. The fall had knocked the wind from him, and his lip was already beginning to swell. He could taste blood in his mouth. He took a shaky breath in, his chin trembling and tears welling up in his eyes.

But, with determination, Estel blinked the tears away, and took a few gulping breaths that really couldn't be called sobs. He scrubbed at his eyes, brushed the dirt of his knees, and gingerly got to his feet again.

He picked up his sword again. It was no ordinary wooden toy sword, but an exquisite one carefully crafted with all the skill of the elves. Its leaf-shaped blade shone softly in the morning light, and, even dulled as it was to prevent injury, the sword was a perfect, tiny replica of the sword which Glorfindel carried.

Estel touched the engraving on the sword reverently, and then took his stance again, wide smile back on his face.

'You can't beat me that easily!' he yelled at his imaginary foes, and took to slashing at the falling leaves with greater enthusiasm than before.

Unknown to him, the Lord Elrond had stepped into the courtyard to discover for himself the cause of this unending noise. His brows lifted as he saw the little human boy slashing, dodging, thrusting, with his new sword.

At that moment, Estel encountered a particularly vicious orc, and found his boyish skills to be lacking. Again, he overbalanced himself, and again, he found himself face down in the dirt, little hands and knees smarting from the impact.

Estel looked up to find Elrond standing over him, his face impassive as always. He quickly scooted a little further back from the stern elven lord. Elrond had never been anything less than courteous to him, and had certainly never given him any cause for fear. But he did not have the kind gentleness of Arwen, or the wicked playfulness of Elladan and Elrohir, nor even the fatherly patience of Glorfindel.

'Good morning, my Lord,' stammered Estel.

'Good morning, Estel,' replied Elrond. He looked at the little sword which now lay discarded a little way from the boy. 'That's a nice sword you have there.'

A smile lit up Estel's face at the mention of his beloved sword. 'Arwen gave it to me,' he said happily. 'For my birthday!'

'I see,' Elrond nodded. 'Do you think you're worthy to wield such a mighty elven blade, Estel?'

The little boy frowned slightly, not quite understanding.

Elrond sighed. 'Come, show me what you can do.'

Nervously, Estel picked up his little sword. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. Arwen had shown him how to hold it when she gave it to him, and Elladan and Elrohir had taught him some basic patterns. But all he had really done so far was _play_ with it.

He began his battle cry, a childish scream that would have inflicted fear into the hearts of any sweets nearby, but not much else. There! There was an orc! Estel took its head off with one mighty blow. And there! A warg! The nasty wolf was run through by Estel's sword. Oh, no! Behind him! A goblin with a mace! Estel spun, dodged the mace, and jumped up with his own wild swing. The movement put the boy off balance, and he skidded in the dirt before landing face first once again on the ground.

'Oomph.'

Estel expected strong arms to lift him back up on his feet – that was what the twins, or Arwen, or Glorfindel did when they saw him fall. But, after waiting a moment with no result, Estel made a rather wobbly effort to get to his feet. Ouch, he said to himself, too awed to say much in front of Elrond. 

'You were off balance to begin with,' Elrond commented, disregarding the scrape on the boy's knee. You cannot start a pattern without a stance.'

Estel bowed his head. He knew he wasn't very good, but he was trying his best.

'And you do not even grip your sword correctly,' continued Elrond, slight disdain entering his voice. 'Who taught you that?'

'Arwen,' whispered Estel.

'Ah,' said Elrond, conveying enough meaning in that one syllable for a whole speech from someone else. 'My daughter is fair and wise, but unfortunately for you, Estel, she knows little about the ways of a warrior. Your footwork was wrong when you moved from your first swing to your next thrust,' he went on. 'How can you expect to use your full strength on a foe, when you are inhibiting your own movements?'

'But it was just for fun,' protested Estel.

Elrond arched his brow again. 'For fun?' he repeated. 'For _fun.' He sighed. 'Estel, the sword is an ancient and esteemed weapon of the elves. It should be used with the dignity it deserves, or left alone altogether.'_

'But I just wanted to play,' Estel said in a tiny voice.

Elrond shook his head. 'Estel,' he said almost gently. 'You will never have the speed and grace of an elf. I can tell from your movements just then, that you will never match an elf in the way of the sword.' He stepped gracefully over to where the weapon had fallen from Estel's hand when he fell. Elrond picked up the sword. 'I don't think you should have this back, Estel,' he said sternly.

'No!' exclaimed Estel, sounding very close to tears. 'Please, Lord Elrond, I want my sword.' He took a deep breath, and tried not to shriek at the elf lord. 'Arwen gave it to me.'

'I know that,' Elrond said, a trifle crossly. 'And if I had known that she was going to, I would have forbidden her!'

'I know I'm not very good,' began Estel. He flushed red when he saw the expression on Elrond's face, the one that said, '_not very good'  is the understatement of this century._

But he was determined if nothing else, and he continued anyway. 'But Arwen tells me I'm good. And so do Elladan and Elrohir.'

Elrond waved his hand dismissively. 'My dear Arwen would not know good from bad in the ways of the sword,' he said. 'And my sons dote on you so much that, even if you fell and impaled yourself on that thing, they would still praise you for it!'

'But maybe,' said Estel hopefully, 'I could just stop playing here in front of your chambers, Elrond?' He sniffled despite himself. 'Maybe… maybe if I went and played in the west clearing, where you couldn't see me? Would that… would that be alright?'

'I think not,' Elrond said. 'It is not the fact that I must _watch this mockery of a swordfight which I object to, it is the fact that you are doing it at all.' _

'But that's my sword,' objected Estel, feeling that the whole of his tiny world had just collapsed around him. He could feel the tears welling up again, and when he tried to hold them back, they became a deep, dull ache in his tummy.

Elrond crouched down to Estel's height. 'I will not force you to stop playing with your sword,' he said, 'although I could. But as you rightly say, it is your birthday present.' He handed the little weapon back to Estel. 'But think of the fool you are making of yourself. Think how irritating your play is for the older, wiser elves of Rivendell. This must be your decision, Estel.'

'Do I really look silly?' Estel asked in a muffled voice.

Elrond looked deep into the boy's eyes, and Estel bowed his head. He supposed he did look a bit silly, running after invisible orcs, and tripping over his own feet. He doubted that it was very probable that he _could kill an orc._

'Was I really irritating?' he asked, in a very small voice.

'Even if I could not see you,' Elrond said, 'there mere knowledge that your… _play_… is taking place, is irritating enough.

Against his very best efforts, Estel could not hold back the gulping sob that rose in his throat. He dropped the sword as if it was a hot coal, and turned and fled from the stern figure of the elven lord.

Elrond looked at the boy with displeasure. Estel was weak, but perhaps that was a trait of men. If the boy was to participate in the activities of his elders, he had to be ready for their criticism when it came. And the boy would thank him, when his senses returned, for today. He would realise that, as he would never gain the skill of an elf, it was better never to try, than to embarrass himself with his pathetic efforts. Elrond sighed again – it was difficult, sometimes, teaching unpleasant lessons to children, but they had to be taught and learnt all the same.

He picked up the little sword, intending to send it to back to the forge to have the metal recycled, and walked back to the grand rooms of his chambers. A pile of work awaited him, and as he stepped inside his room, the incident with Estel had already gone from his mind.

On the opposite side of Rivendell, curled into the hollow root of an ancient oak tree, a little boy sobbed, uncomforted by the beauty of his surroundings. His cheeks were streaked with tears, and his nose ran, but Estel didn't care. He guessed what Elrond would say if the elf lord could see him now – 'Tears, Estel? Just another sign that you are not worthy to wield a sword.' – but he didn't care about that, either. 

All he knew was that what had started off as a wonderfully happy day, had somehow been turned into one where all his little dreams had been crushed.

And Estel wept on.

..:*:..

AN: If you have a comment, or can guess what I was parodying, please leave a note in a review! 


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